Make Me, O Lord
by Elaine Vivian
Summary: The women see their men off to war.


_Make Me, O Lord  
_

* * *

"_By all the days that I have lived_  
_Make me a soldier, Lord."_

Katherine did not think that she would ever be the one to say goodbye first. She did not think that she would be seeing her men off to war. She did not think that she would shed tears in farewell so soon.

But alas, here she was, sitting at her kitchenette and letting the tears flow freely and silently. _Best_ _not wake the children_, she thought. It was nearly midnight and she still could not, would not sleep. Jack was still out—with Davey, or Darcy, or maybe the three of them were out together. Drinking away their sorrows and letting the spirits invade the false memories of all they would've done had there never been a war.

She heard footsteps trudge up the porch stairs outside and heard the key rattle the lock. She didn't turn around when Jack came inside; she couldn't for fear that the wracking sobs would follow the sight of him.

He closed the door but stopped walking when he saw his wife sitting at the small table. "Kath," he murmured. "What're you still doing up? You need rest. Go to bed."

She turned around with her eyes closed. "And you? Are you going to come with me?" She opened her eyes are swallowed back the tears that were sure to come.

The slight scornful look that was on his face melted into concern. "You've been crying?" He moved to her and crouched down to even their heights. He took her hands in his. "Tell me why, Katherine. Talk to me."

Talk? How could she talk? She felt like her tears could tell the whole story for her! What she needed with words she did know. But she tried to tell him anyway. "You," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You're leaving us. Your family. You're leaving me, Jack Kelly. And I never even saw it coming."

He stroked her hair and looked into her eyes. "I told you a long time ago, _Plumber_, that I ain't leaving you for anything. And I meant what I said."

"It doesn't matter what you meant by it. They're sending you off to war. They're sending a husband, thousands of husbands to die. They're sending so many fathers to abandon their children on battlefields and drown in their own blood. So fine, you aren't leaving. But you're being taken away."

He squeezed her hands. "What makes you so sure that I won't come back alive?"

She shook her head and smiled sadly. "What makes you so sure that you will?"

He smiled then, his eyes sad yet still with some sense of confidence in them. "Because I'm needed here. I've got something to believe in. And when I go… I'm gonna need you to believe in my like you did all those years ago. Do you think you can manage that?"

"I can believe in you, Jack. I always, _always_ will. But it's not you…"

Jack nodded in understanding. "It's the other guys. The ones I'll be going up against."

Katherine sighed. "I still can't understand how you're so casual about it."

"If I'm not, then the fear will get to me, and that's worse than anything else that could happen to me. To us."

"_With high endeavour that was his,__  
__By all his mad catastrophes__  
__Make me a man, O Lord."_

Jack coerced Katherine to go up to bed with him and sleep. But he couldn't, not anymore. He had a a week until deployment. He wanted to spend as much of it awake as possible.

It was funny—she had never asked him what he was afraid of. She'd just assumed that it was dying. But he'd been there. He'd grown up on the streets and there'd been times where his ribs were poking through and he thought that his current night would be his last. So he'd been dying before, and he wasn't afraid of that.

No.

He was afraid of losing them. He was afraid of losing his wife and his children. He was afraid of looking at their photographs one morning and then later that day they'd sit alone, never to be touched by his hands again.

He could just imagine it. Wake up, pull the photograph out of his pocket and kiss it for luck. Put it back. Go off to fight. Hide in the trenches. By the time he'd figure out that he was going to die, it'd be too late. He'd try and pull out the photograph but the bullet came just a second to soon for him to see it. His last sight would be that of a flash of pain, of blood, of death. He would never see them again, and they would never see him.

The war office would send Katherine a telegram. Some time later they'd receive the possessions he'd had on him and the ones he had kept in his barracks. A letter expressing the country's deepest condolences, typed by a secretary and signed by a stamp. To the government, he'd be just another pawn taken in their worldwide chess game. But to Katherine…

She'd cry. If Davey or Darcy came back from the war alive, one of them would be nearby. Probably Darcy; she'd known him longer. He was that kind of man, stepping in to make sure that things didn't fall apart when it seemed like they were about to. But Kath would cry more than she had tonight. He doubted that she'd become catatonic. She was stronger than that.

But would she be able to look into their son's face without seeing her husband in his eyes and his smile? Would their son smile? If he didn't come back, oh god, the things he'd never see his children do.

Louise was only twelve years old. He'd never get to see her become an even better woman than her mother and grandmother before her; he'd never get to watch her fall in love with someone who didn't deserve her; he'd never get to see her off to her own battle with life, marriage, children.

And David was only ten. Hopefully this war would be over by the time he was old enough to be conscripted. God, please don't let him be drafted! What that could do to Katherine, Jack didn't want to imagine. The boy had to go to college—that would be an escape from the war, if it was still going on by then. The world needed more people with college educations. At least, that's what everyone said. And maybe this time they were right.

But what if he came home? Sure, he may not come home without a few scars; hell, he may come home without a limb or two. But anything would be better than never seeing them again. _I'm going to come home after this war_, he thought. _I've got things I need to do before I say goodbye. And when I do, I won't be saying goodbye to a photograph. _

"_The laughter of unclouded years,__  
__And every sad and lovely thing.__"_

Three women sat in the living room—Katherine Plumber-Kelly, wife of the blowhard strike leader; Maria Delacorte-Jacobs, wife of the one with all the brains; and Esmeralda Reid, whose husband knew everything there was to know about printing. Of course, they kept their friendships from the good old days of domestic war without worry of death.

Esmeralda, the Staten Island Emerald. Most people still called her that, even her husband. Darcy wouldn't let his old self go, and he wouldn't let her old self go either. Her dark, Southern-Eastern European hair and skin contrasted greatly with her husband's Northern lightness. So long ago had they met, but it felt like just yesterday now that they were about to say goodbye.

Emerald was hopeful. She prayed often, even carried a rosary. She loved even more than she prayed, finding excuses to be close to Darcy as much as possible. Together they were the epitome of optimism… though there was only so much to go around when one was preparing for war.

Maria and Davey thought rationally. They understood the consequences of what was happening and they planned. If I don't come back, if you ever need help, if I come home and I'm not the same—they had a plan for every possibility. It was wonderful, but it couldn't make them happy, preparing for death.

And of course, Katherine. She wasn't the only mother among them, but certainly she reflected those qualities the most. The caring nature, the protective tendencies. And her marriage with Jack was so much more than love. It was responsibility, duty, a contract—wherever you go, whatever you do, I'll always be with you, right by your side. For sure.

They were leaders, both of them, naturally. He was heroically charismatic and she was twice as good as that. And while they would both carry on, while they would both be strong while the war dragged out, they weren't prepared for any outcome. If he didn't come back, what would they do? What would they do if he did? It didn't matter, though. He would go regardless of whether or not there was a guarantee of return.

The three woman sat in the living room—Katherine, Emerald, and Maria—and they said few words. To say words now would mean accepting their husbands' fates, accepting the possibilities. So they didn't. Instead, they sat quietly as their children fidgeted and squirmed, trying to emulate their mothers' solemnity.

They would see their men off as a group; perhaps it wouldn't be so devastating that way. The men themselves were upstairs, dressing in their uniforms and making sure everything was inspection-ready.

They did finally come down stairs, one at a time—they were like debutantes making their entrance into society, only this was a much more frightening place into which they were entering. To compare innocent young women to these men who would soon be real and proper soldiers seemed unfair. Certainly one was worse than the other, but even the men's wives couldn't distinguish between the levels of anticipation.

The tears would not come to any of them, not even the children. That would wait. Until then, wives would look upon their handsome husbands and see bravery and mercy and all things given to a golden man. And oh, were they golden men.

"_By beauty lavishly outpoured__  
__And blessings carelessly received."_

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself. I don't want to come home and find that you aren't as perfect as when I left you." Darcy looked at his wife and held her face in his hands. "Make me that promise, Esmeralda."

She smiled. "Only if you call me Emerald."

He smiled back and her kissed her. "Emerald."

"_Ere the sun swings his noonday sword__  
__Must say good-bye to all of this."_

Maria and Davey stood together. He looked at her pointedly as she held her children to her sides. "You know what to do when I'm gone, right? And if I don't come home, for any reason, or if I can't write—"

Maria put her fingers on his lips. "I know."

"_Saw with uncomprehending eyes__  
__A hundred of thy sunsets spill__  
__Their fresh and sanguine sacrifice__"_

Jack stood tall and proud. He held onto his wife's hand with one of his own, and held his daughter's in the other. He crouched to Louise's height. "If something happens to me, you take care of your mother, alright?" She nodded, tears filling her eyes to the brim. He pulled her into a warm embrace and kissed her hair. "I'll come back for you, sweetheart. I'll come back for you."

He moved to his son, just a few inches shorter. "David."

"Yes, Father?"

"I'm not gonna be home for a while. You're gonna have to take care of Louise and your mother. You're gonna have to be the man of the house while I'm away. They can take care of you, too, but I need you to love them. Love them like they need it more than water."

"Why can't you do it, though?"

He smiled at his son. "I'll do the best I can, kid. But there's only so much I can do from across the ocean. So take of each other, yeah? C'mon, I know you can do it."

The little boy nodded, lip trembling, and Jack stood before his own tears could show. He bad to be brave right now. There was no crying in war, and he couldn't. He just couldn't do it front of the boy.

He turned to Katherine. He looked at her with her sad eyes and her tearstained cheeks. He bit his tongue to keep the tears from spilling out. "For sure?" he managed to croak.

Katherine looked like her heart had broken as her mouth dropped open and she let out a breath. "For sure," she whispered.

He brought her to him and kissed her—their last one for a long time. He felt her hands move from resting on his chest to around his neck as if holding on for dear life. When they broke apart, she buried her face in his shoulder. And one last time, he heard her whisper—"For sure."

"_By all the delights that I shall miss  
Help me to die, O Lord.__"_

_Lieutenant William Noel Hodgson, MC, 29__th__ June, 1916_


End file.
